The pilot blinked again. "You're--"

"Malone," Malone said. "Kenneth J. Malone, FBI. My friends call me
Snookums, but don't try it. Why not let's put the gun away and be
friends?"

"Oh," the colonel said weakly. "Mr.--sure. I'm sorry, Mr. Malone.
Didn't recognize you for a second there."

"Perfectly all right," Malone said. The gun was still pointing at him,
and in spite of the fact that he felt pleasantly like Philip Marlowe,
or maybe the Saint, he was beginning to get a little nervous. "The
gun," he said.

The colonel stared at it for a second, then reholstered it in a hurry.
"I am sorry," he said. "But we've been worried about Russians coming
aboard. I've got my copilot and navigator outside, guarding the plane,
and they were supposed to let me know if anybody came in. When they
didn't let me know, and you knocked, I assumed you were Russians. But,
of course, you--"

Conversation came to a sudden dead stop.

"About these Russians--" Malone said desperately. But the pilot's eyes
got a little glazed. He wasn't listening.

"Now, wait a minute," he said. "Why _didn't_ they notify me?"

"Maybe they didn't see me," Malone said. "I mean us."

"But--"

"I'm not very noticeable," Malone said hopefully, trying to look small
and undistinguished. "They could just have ... not noticed me. Okay?"
He gave the pilot his most friendly smile.

"They'd have noticed you," the pilot said. "If they're still out
there. If nothing's happened to them." He leaned forward. "Did you see
them, Malone?"

Malone shrugged. "How would I know?" he said.

"How would you--" The pilot seemed at a loss for words. Malone waited
patiently, trying to look as if everything were completely and
perfectly normal. "Mr. Malone," the pilot said at last, "how _did_ you
get aboard this aircraft?"

He didn't wait for an answer, and Malone was grateful for that.
Instead, he stepped over to a viewport and looked out. On the field,
two air force officers were making lonely rounds about the plane.
Fifty yards farther away, a squad of Russian guards also patrolled the
brightly-lit area. There was nothing else in sight.

"There isn't any way you could have done it," the pilot said without
turning.

"That's the FBI for you," Malone said. "We've got our little trade
secrets, you know." Somehow, the pilot's back looked unconvinced.
"Disguise," Malone added. "We're masters of disguise."

The pilot turned very slowly. "Now what the hell would you disgu